


You Smell Like the Earth

by May



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Dreams and Nightmares, Hallucinations, Kinktober, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 16:51:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12258285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/May/pseuds/May
Summary: Edward gets thoroughly spanked by his own subconsciousness.





	You Smell Like the Earth

“Drink it,” it says. Edward stares at the glass of green liquid, and it’s a thick, distinctly poisonous shade of green. He tries to take a breath, but the air is thick with something cloying but fresh. He feels as if he’s trapped in a greenhouse, but he can’t possibly be.

He moves his hands along the walls of the room, but his fingers never run over a doorframe. He should be able to fight his way out of this, but he can’t think clearly. He _can’t think._

The glass of liquid stands alone on a table in the center of the room, the only instance he can find of any kind of clarity.

“Drink it,” urges the apparition, again, and it stares at him with supercilious green eyes or, perhaps, bright blue ones.

He wraps his fingers around the glass and it’s icy. It might be refreshing but he wants to pull his fingers back on impulse. The liquid has a sharp, sweet smell, though, like ripening fruit, and it makes his mouth water, and something is keeping his mind fogged enough that he can’t feel as frightened as he might. Edward worries about this somewhere deep below which, in itself, is something worrying.

The vision tilts its blonde head and bats its eyelashes. Its figure is lushly curved, its dress black and hugging its breasts, its hips. It makes a movement, swinging its hips and pushing its chest towards him like an erotic snake. Edward feels warm, and the glass is so cool. He needs to drink something.

It has green eyes, now, and is monochromatic in a tuxedo, but with a red, red mouth. It smiles with that mouth shut and it looks at him like it can see every part of him.

“We both know you’re going to drink it, Edward,” it says, its voice husky.

Edward takes a sip, and even the glass on his lips is refreshing. The liquid seeps slowly into his mouth, and its taste is round and bright on his tongue. Its bitter, too – it’s as if somebody gutted a plant, and then strained the juice of it into a glass, wholesale. There’s a very definite unpasteurised freshness to it.

The vision has red hair, now, and a short, satin nightdress hangs off its body.

“This is the least you can do for me, Ed,” it says.

The room is so, so warm, and he’s thirsty, so he drinks the whole glass. It’s full and sweet and satiating, with an underlying bitterness. Edward has never liked things to be too sweet, anyway. Or too sour, or too hot. A little bitterness does him just fine. It runs smoothly down his throat, leaving a warmth in his chest and he can feel it settling inside him. And, with it, something flows into his veins.

The apparition is blonde, again, and it smiles. Edward’s skin prickles and turns hot. He knows the feel of it underneath his hands, and he wants nothing more than to touch the vision. They’ve always been impossible to touch, no matter how much he wanted to. His hands just went through them, whether he wanted to kiss them or to hit them.

This time, though, it works, and its skin is blessedly cool when he cups its jaw. It looks at him like he’s everything he should be. He leans down to kiss it, and its lips are soft. It yields to him, and he could lose himself in it. He moves his hands down its back, feeling the flex of its spine underneath the thin material of its dress. It’s throwing sensations at him, and he takes it all in. It presses against him, its soft breasts against its chest and, finally, it lets him own it.

There’s no process of undressing; they just seem to be naked, him and it. Its hair is loose and tumbles long and golden over its shoulders, cascading to the side as Edward kisses its neck. He moves his hands downwards, over its round hips, placing his palms on its ass. It’s all solid flesh, and it’s his, again, and he didn’t realise how much he needed to have this, just have this. It sighs and leans into him, and he’s so, so hard.

Edward lays on the ground, which is soft like spring grass, and the vision rides him. It rolls its hips and throws back its hair, and it moans, a familiar sound. Inside, it’s hot and wet and silky-smooth, and he remembers that. He puts his hands on its legs, runs his thumbs up and down its soft inner thighs. Then he explores the curves of its hips and waist, before cupping its breasts. They press through the gaps between his fingers, stiff nipples against his palms. It is a dream.

“Did you miss me?” it breathes.

“I missed you so much,” he replies. “You were everything I could ever want.”

It smiles, and Edward closes his eyes. It begins to shake around him, and he thinks its reaching a climax, before he realises that it’s laughing. He opens his eyes and it’s staring down at him, blue eyes narrow, and its laugh is hard and sharp.

Edward shrinks, or he feels as if he is, although he remains hard. His dick is aching, now – he hasn’t come and, on some level, he knows he should have done. The apparition continues laughing and watching him, and he suddenly feels as if it expects him to crawl away, but he’s pinned underneath it.

“Of course I am,” it says, “Even when I was alive, it was like I sprung from your dreams.”

Still hard, Edward’s dick hurts, now. The vision is wearing a night dress, purple silk. It makes it look fragile, and its skin is blue-white. Its hair is red, its eyes cloudy behind cracked glasses.

“It was never questioned,” it continues. It begins moving its hips again, but in quick abrupt movements. It pulls at his dick, but he isn’t coming. “Did you want me to tell you were the biggest, baddest villain in all of Gotham? Did you understand me at all?”

Its voice is jagged and, maybe, there are tears behind those glasses. Edward doesn’t know whether he wants to treat this thing like it’s made of glass, or whether he wants to break it. He wants to say something, but he can’t say anything, and the apparition continues its jerky thrusts, pushing him towards agony. It leans forward, satin brushing against his chest.

“I don’t think you did,” it says. It smiles, its pale lips stretching, and he thinks, for a moment, that it has fangs. “I don’t even think you wanted to.”

“I did!” he manages to protest, pulling his own voice from his throat. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, but it must be,” it says. It has a flat chest and a husky voice, now, and short, black hair. “I’m just you, Edward. Every time, it’s just you.”

Edward’s breath stops as he stares into the apparition’s wide green eyes and then he looks at its red mouth, glancing at the freckles dusted across its nose on the way. It lifts itself off of him, and his aching dick hits the hot air of the room he’s in. The vision crawls up him, and he can feel its hard little prick against his stomach, leaving a wet trail.

Edward finds it in himself to put his hands against its tight, narrow waist, and its eyes grow huge as he flips them both over so that the apparition is beneath him. He slams it against the floor hard enough to hurt. It goes limp, as if on cue, and he pulls apart its thighs, which still feel soft. It resists only slightly as he pushes himself inside it, but really only slightly. It makes a noise like it’s in pain, because Edward only has that for reference. It doesn’t matter. It works.

He fucks it, pushing its knees up to its chest, and pumping and pumping away. It flickers between its three images, the blonde sighing and quietly laughing, the dark haired one keening in pain, and the redhead just stares, and has opted barely to move, at all. Edward’s dick is swollen and red, and there must be relief to be found in the core of one of them, he’s sure. If he presses, he’ll break it open and find what he’s looking for.

“Enough!” shouts the redhead, and the atmosphere cracks.

Edward is on his front, across its knees. His straining, aching dick is pressed against the satin of its nightgown, torturously. He wriggles, but still can’t find relief. It’s placed a hand on his back, a slender, delicate hand that seems, somehow, to be as strong as a clamp, so Edward can’t pull himself up.

“Edward,” it purrs. Its fingers make patterns on his skin, swirling around his vertebrae. “You can’t leave yet. You haven’t answered my question.”

Edward opens his mouth, but the words are gone. It moves its hand downwards towards the small of its back, tracing lines, and its other hand takes its place to keep him still. He feels it lay its palm on his rear.

“That doesn’t matter, because I think we know what the answer would be,” it says. It grabs a handful of his ass, possessive fingertips digging in. Edward hisses. “A better one would be: did you wonder what I would think about her?”

Its grip relents, and it continues its meandering exploration downwards, still making lines and drawing patterns. Edward takes a gasp when it reaches his balls, as it gently scores with its fingernails. Across, and then underneath, until it gets close to the base of his erection, where the skin grows stretched and red. He squirms, and rubs against the satin of its nightdress, and that still holds a promise, just out of reach.

Then everything goes still, and Edward instinctively holds his breath.

 

 _\- SLAP_ -

 

Its hand comes down squarely onto the fullest part of his ass. Edward whimpers. The force jolts his body forward across its lap, causing his dick to throb with continued agony. His skin smarts, and the mark is hot and sharp – Edward can practically feel the outline of its hand on his rear.

“I don’t think you did,” it says, its tone cool, even as his skin burns.

There comes another smack, right in the same place, and there’s an explosion of pain upon pain. Edward almost feels it underneath his skin, this time.

“It was just all about you,” it says. It hits him again but, this time, it’s close to the tops of his thighs, across his testicles. It hurts just as much as before but, this time, there’s a pain that reverberates through to his gut, sending twitches of agony through his already aching cock. Edward tears up, and tangles his fingers into the apparition’s night dress. Beneath that, its skin is cold, and he wants to shift so that his dick can press against it and, at least, find some relief against _something_ , but he doesn’t think he can move.

“You,” it repeats. It slaps again, in the same place, giving Edward a full-body jolt. “There’s always only you, Edward.”

It repeats the smack three times, and it adds insult to flesh that’s already smarting with injury, and tears run down Edward’s face as he holds onto the night dress, tightly. His knuckles are white, his ass and his dick are red and his cheeks are tearstained; he must be made up of blotches, now.

“You.” _SMACK_ “Can’t.” _SMACK_ “Ignore.” _SMACK_ “Who.” _SMACK_ “You.” _SMACK_ “Really.” _SMACK_ “Are.” _SMACK._

Every time, the pain falls in another layer, and Edward screws his eyes tight shut, wet eyelashes tight against his cheeks. Yet, his dick doesn’t shrink, and remains as red and wanting as it’s been for what seems like an eternity.

_SMACK_

This last hit pushes him forward, forcing his dick to score along the night dress. And it’s only now that the pressure bursts, and he comes across the satin, across its lap. Edward shakes, and he shouts as it happens, and even with everything that’s just happened, there’s still a treacherous pleasure in it. The vision is still underneath him, over him, and all around him. He sags onto its lap.

There are no more assaults made on his skin, and the hand is gentle, now, fingers running over the reddened skin. Over his ass and between his legs to gently touch his balls. Edward twitches, and hisses; his dick is sore, but is no longer swollen, and it doesn’t react to his being touched, now.

He’s pushed backwards, and lands on the floor with a meaty thud. The apparition stands up, looks down at its newly stained night dress and sighs. It regards him for a moment, then pulls it off over its head before discarding it. Edward passes out.

 

When he wakes up, he’s fully dressed and alone. Something fresh and floral stains the air.

 


End file.
